


Say what you wanna say

by OnlySkyAboveMe



Series: Call me, call me any, anytime [2]
Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Babies, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Future Fic, No Angst, Phone Calls & Telephones, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-15 05:48:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17523050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnlySkyAboveMe/pseuds/OnlySkyAboveMe
Summary: Scott broke a promise he never agreed to in the first place.OrScott makes two phone calls





	Say what you wanna say

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ladyfriday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyfriday/gifts), [PinkGerberDaisies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PinkGerberDaisies/gifts).



> This one's for Tara, because she's such an enabler and this was basically her idea after reading part one. And this is for Daisy, because virtual hugs can take this form too! xxx
> 
> Thanks to Lori for the read-through and encouragement, and to T for her constant enthusiasm and help.
> 
> This isn't beta'd, because all my lovely friends have far more important things to do like sleep and go to work, so any mistakes are my own (and I'm sleepy to so there will definitely be a few!).

_12 January 2022_

_Montreal, Quebec_

Scott is tired. Tessa was so restless in bed last night that she insisted he move to the spare room so he at least could get some sleep, but he’d slept fitfully, still able to hear her tossing and turning across the hall, and their slightly lumpy guest pillows had not been kind to him. He slowly blinks his heavy eyelids, the team around him have unconsciously reverted to speaking French, and though he is near fluent now, he’s been up since 5am and his brain is just not playing ball anymore. He can feel his attention drifting away from the conversation around him, and he does little to stop it from doing so.

-

_“So, I, uh, I made an appointment to have my IUD removed next week,” she says, tapping her fingers on the centre console idly._

_It’s the last week of August and they’re driving back to Kate’s house from Casey and Megan’s place, having just visited to meet the newest Virtue. Two-week-old Lily is possibly the tiniest baby Scott has ever met, having made her entrance somewhat earlier than expected, her delicate little body swamped by the newborn sized pink polka-dot onesie he and Tessa brought with them as a gift. Yet she still rested comfortably in the crook of his arm and batted her eyelashes at him in a way many Virtues seem to._

_“Okay, sure,” he replies, not really knowing what to say when your wife tells you this. “I mean, we don’t have any shows coming up for a while, makes sense if you want a break?” He remembers a conversation they had well over a decade ago when she told him she was getting one. If he recalls correctly, it was not a conversation he particularly wanted to have at the time; no one wants their recently on again off again_ friend _, who you’ve known since she had baby teeth, tell you she’s switching birth control as you run through a Paso Doble because a) it’s one of the most effective methods, and b) it might stop her periods entirely, which will make life so much easier._

 _“I think we should start trying. I’m ready_ _to start trying,” she says, biting her lip as she glances over at him._

_“For a baby?” he asks, in a pitch he didn’t know he was capable of reaching anymore._

_“No for a giraffe! Yes, of course for a baby, Scott,” she giggles, shaking her head and reaching for his hand, pulling it to rest with hers on the centre console._

_“Really?”_

_“Really,” she says, squeezing his hand and looking over at him. “I love you and I want a baby with you.”_

_“Me too,” he breathes, leaning over to try and kiss her._

_“Watch the road, mister,” she scolds, turning his face back to face the windshield. When they reach the next red light he steals a kiss on her cheek, relishing the way it makes her blush, just like at the Ilderton Carnival all those years ago._

-

“Êtes-vous d'accord, Scott?” asks Dominick.

Scott startles a little, and looks up to see everyone’s eyes on him. “Oui, d’accord,” he replies. He rolls his shoulders, feeling the knots in the muscles grating around, sucking in a quiet breath as a jolt of pain shoots up the side of his neck.

Scott looks down at his watch and winces at the relatively late hour. Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he catches Patrice’s eye, waving it and then gesturing to his watch. Patrice nods to say, “Of course”, and Scott silently rises from his seat and steps into the hall, tapping the name at the top of his contacts list and raising the device to his ear.

“Hello”

“Hey, Tess, it’s me. I’m so sorry, I’ve got held up and I probably won’t be leaving for another 30 minutes at least. Can you wait to have dinner until I get back?” He hears a shaky exhale on the other end of the phone; a hungry, grumpy Tessa kind of exhale.

“I’m really sorry, Babe,” he sighs. “I know I said I’d be back on time tonight, but the teams leave for the Olympics in three weeks and B2Ten called a last-minute logistics meeting. I had to be there.”

She doesn’t respond, all he can hear is her heavy breathing, though it is somewhat uneven.

“Tess?”

He hears a small whimper. “Fuck,” she mutters under her breath.

“Tessa?” he says, louder, feeling a little panicked.

She exhales steadily. “I was about to say don’t worry, take your time, but then…” she pauses for a moment, “... yeah, I think my water just broke.”

He nearly drops his phone onto the concrete floor. Yes, at their 37-week check-up yesterday the Doctor had said it could be any day now, but…

“Scott?”

Oh shit. His wife. The one who’s in labour.

“Yeah,” he says, shaking himself. “What can I do? What do you need?”

“I-” she sucks in a harsh breath and he hears her phone clatter onto the kitchen counter.

“Tess!” he cries out, gripping his own phone tightly in his hand.

“I’m gonna need you to come home now, please,” she says through gritted teeth.

“I’m on my way!”

“Okay,” she hisses, and the line goes dead.

He turns quickly on the spot, ready to grab his bag and make his apologies before dashing off. “Gah! Jeez, Patch!” he cries out, clutching his chest in surprise when he finds Patrice standing right behind him. “I-”

Patch holds out Scott’s bag to him. “Go!” he says, before clapping him on the shoulder. “Good luck.” Scott smiles in gratitude and sprints out of the rink and into the freezing January night.

The frigid air burns his lungs and eyes as he power walks as efficiently as possible home to Tessa. The compacted snow and ice on the sidewalk rules out running, lest he require the hospital himself, and he wraps himself up as he goes, pulling hat, scarf and gloves out of his backpack as he walks along, bearing no mind to the random tissues and sticky notes that fall out in his haste – these things are of little importance in comparison, though he knows his mother would scold him for littering. The commute between their home and the rink is a fairly pleasant one; five minutes’ drive on a good day, 25 on the worst. In the summer he often leaves the car at home, opting instead for the 30-minute walk along the river, enjoying the peace and tranquillity of a city still asleep at 5:30am. It’s about 15 minutes at a light jog, and this is the kind of time he’s aiming for now.

His heart is beating so fast his head is spinning a little; traffic and people passing him in blurs of colour and sound, and he shouts fleeting apologies to the people he brushes past, sidesteps and trips over on his frenzied journey. It’s only when he nearly steps out in front of a garbage truck that he grabs on to a lamppost and forces himself to stop and take a breath, closing his eyes and breathing in through his nose as deeply as possible given the air temperature. He needs to get home, that’s step one, and once he’s there hopefully his head will be clearer, and he might be able to feel he’s a little more in control of the situation. But for now, just breathe, then get home in one piece. This is normal, this is part of life, this is what they wanted, the both of them.

-

_He scoops her into his arms in front of a few weary-looking travellers staving off jetlag in the coffee shop in the arrivals hall, twirling her around and whispering in her ear how much he has missed her. He’d flown in from Beijing a couple of hours ago, having spent two weeks there with Chiddy, running a few masterclasses and helping their senior Ice Dance teams with the key points in their Rhythm Dance ready for Olympic season. He’s been waiting for her at Pearson as her flight from London, England was due in not too long after his and they are planning on heading up to the cottage for a week’s holiday to celebrate her thirty-second birthday and to relax after their respective business trips. She smells like Nivea lotion and vanilla perfume, her hair falling down her back beneath a black Adidas cap. She looks fresh faced and tired, but as excited to see him as he is her._

_“Hi Babe,” she says quietly, lifting up on her toes to press a closed-mouth kiss to his lips, her own soft from the liberal amounts of Vaseline she likes to apply to them during long-haul flights. He holds out a small bag to her, which she takes with a curious look on her face._

_“I couldn’t find any flowers to buy you to welcome you back, so I bought you a book instead,” he explains as a smile spreads slowly across her face._

_“That’s so sweet!” she exclaims, throwing her arm back around him and kissing his cheek. “I love it. I actually bought myself a gift whilst I was in London, but you can share it too I guess.”_

_“Oh yeah?” he says, interested, looking down at her luggage and expecting her to produce a Harrods or Liberty bag. He waits but she doesn’t move. “Tess?” he asks, looking up questioningly. When he meets her eyes, she has a glint of mischief and excitement there, casting her eyes down briefly towards where her hand rests on the lapel of her black wool coat. He takes a step forward to look closer at the white badge that is pinned there (he should really dig his glasses out of his backpack) and his breath catches in his throat._

 

_“Isn’t it the cutest?” she asks, tears shining in her eyes. “They give these out on the subway there so that women can get offered a seat without having to ask.”_

_“Really?” he asks, voice hoarse as tears gather in his own eyes. He’s not asking if that’s what the badge is for, he’s asking if what it_ means _is really true._

_“Really,” she says, nodding. A couple of tears escape her eyes and he gently wipes them away with the pads of his thumbs, planting soft kisses on her cheeks where they fell. “I suspected it a couple of days after you left for China,” she explains. “I went to get bloods done to check, and the Doctor confirmed it the day I landed in London.”_

_“You should have called me,” he says, softly._

_“I wanted to see your face when you found out. I wanted to be able to hug you right away,” she explains._

_He pulls her in close, and they sway on the spot for a while, oblivious to the people milling about the airport, ensconced in their own little bubble of happiness. His hand softly brushes her stomach between them; it feels no different to when he had left a couple of weeks ago, yet utterly different at the same time._

_“You two ready to get this show on the road?” he asks quietly, a soft smile on his lips. He reaches for her suitcase and wheels it along with his own, and they walk towards where he had parked the rental car he collected earlier._

_“Shotgun!” she shouts, overtaking him at a run, her hat blowing off in her haste and her laughter filling the car park._

-

“Ah crap,” he mutters, realising the timer on the crossing is counting down from five and he’s still staring into space. He sprints across the four-lane street, head whipping back and forth to check for stray cars or cyclists, resuming his speed walking on the other side as he reaches the final few blocks before home. He nearly goes down as he turns the corner onto their street, black ice having formed on the sidewalk of their quiet neighbourhood. He walks the final stretch to their house carefully, finally realising that he’ll be of no use with a sprained ankle, as well as completely drenched in sweat and out of breath.

He stumbles through the front door and heads straight to the living room, snow still on his boots, overwhelmingly hot now he’s inside in the warm. There he finds Tessa swaying from foot to foot and holding onto the back of the sofa as she watches Queer Eye on their big screen TV.

“What on ea-” he begins.

“Shhh,” she hisses, waving her arm at him and gesturing to the TV, where Bobby is telling the workmen which walls to paint and which railings to stain.

“Uh, Tess? Shouldn’t we go?”

“In a sec. My contractions are nearly 10 minutes apart still, the Doctor said to come in when you got back in case my waters actually have broken. But, I just want to see…” She stops abruptly, fingers digging into the fabric of the sofa, leaning forward to rest her head on her arms, breathing as deeply as possible through her contraction. He strides over to her, oblivious to the small puddles his shoes and clothes are leaving on the hardwood floors.

“What can I do?” he asks. In response one of her hands comes around to rub low on her back, just above her tailbone. He pulls off his gloves and replaces her hand with his and copies her actions in the same spot. “Like this?”

“Harder,” she whispers through gritted teeth. He presses hard as he rubs her back, looking at his watch to note the time, unaware that he’s holding his own breath until she straightens up and turns to him, placing her hand on his cheek.

“That seemed bad,” he says.

“Yeah, that’s the worst one I’ve had.” She reaches for the remote and turns the TV off. “Will you put my bag in the car?”

His eyes go wide and he gulps, realising he’s come home without the thing they need the most this evening. “Uh,” he looks at her sheepishly, rubbing the back of this neck. “I, uh, I didn’t bring the car.”

Tessa freezes in the middle of putting her cardigan on and stares at him. “What do you mean you didn’t bring the car?!”

Scott feels the colour drain from his face at the look on hers. He opens his mouth, to say what he’s not really sure, but he is saved by the ringing of the doorbell. He darts out of the room and away from her death glare, opening the front door to find Patrice standing on the other side.

“Patch?” he says, confused.

“Who is it?” says Tessa, poking her head (and her stomach) into the hallway, brightening at the sight of her favourite mentor.

“You left without your car,” he explains, stepping inside and closing the door to keep the warmth in the house. “I drove after you because I thought you might need a ride to the hospital?” He looks at Scott, “Then you don’t need to worry about the roads, no?”

Scott sighs in relief and hugs Patrice, hoping his gratitude comes across through the action. Tessa chuckles behind them and begins sliding her feet into her worn out Superstars. Scott bends down to assist her and then help her with her coat whilst Patrice takes her hospital bag out to his car. He returns to find his former students still standing in the hallway, embracing as she breathes through another contraction and he diligently rubs her lower back, muttering softly in her ear to keep her focussed. When it passes and they slowly turn to the door to head out it’s to find Patrice with a tear in his eye and a look of such pride in his face, to which Tessa smiles shyly and squeezes Scott’s hand in her own. The three of them step out into the freezing night air, Scott and Patrice supporting her weight as they slowly walk across the snowy driveway and into the car.

* * *

_13 January 2022_

_Ilderton, Ontario_

Alma is pulling a tray of blueberry muffins out of the oven as the home phone rings. She removes her oven gloves and walks over to pick it up, perching on the edge of one of the stools at the breakfast bar.

“Hello, this is the Moir household,” she says, checking her watch and noting the still early hour (she’s woken around 4am for some unknown reason and had been unable to get back to sleep, opting instead to wander into the kitchen and make muffins ready for when her grandchildren came to visit later on).

“Mom?” says the tired, but unmistakable voice of her youngest son.

“Scott?”

“Hi.” His voice breaks, a hiccupping sob escaping from him, and Alma brings her hand to her mouth, nervous energy running through her.

“Scotty,” she breathes, “is ev-”

“I’m a Dad, Mom.” He swallows roughly and sniffs, Alma’s own eyes filling with tears at the news. “We have a son, and he’s perfect.”

“Congratulations, my darling boy,” she says softly, wiping her eyes with the sleeve of her pajamas. “Is everyone okay?”

“Everyone’s fine,” he sighs, contentedly. Alma feels the tension release from her shoulders at this news. “He arrived at 4am, is seven pounds even, he has hazel eyes and a shock of auburn hair.” He chuckles at this last bit. “And he… he’s just beautiful.”

“And Tessa?” she probes, needing confirmation of the wellbeing of her precious daughter-in-law.

“She’s exhausted, but she’s great. She’s resting now, totally out for the count.”

“Oh good,” Alma says. “I’m so glad. Was the birth okay?”

-

_She’s rocking on a large yoga ball, taking measured breaths in and out through her nose, whimpering as another contraction begins, fingers digging into her own thighs as her head drops forward onto her chest and she moans deeply._

_“You...you broke your promise,” she stutters out, angrily, her arms shaking. “I told you not to let me do this!”_

_He moves from where he had been rubbing her back and crouches down in front of her so they’re at eye level._

_“Now, if I recall correctly,” he says, gently, trying to keep her spirits up. “You said ‘one year, or three years, or ten years’. It’s been just over eight, therefore not my fault! Also, I never agreed to that promi-” He yelps as he’s interrupted mid-sentence by Tessa grabbing at the front of his faded Tragically Hip t-shirt and pulling him towards her with a strength that never ceases to amaze him._

_“I. Will. Punch you...in the face!” she screeches through gritted teeth, fists clenching tightly into his shirt._

_“I suppose now isn’t the time to point out that this was your idea, huh?” he asks, his voice somewhat strangled due to her fierce grip, which becomes stronger the long the contraction goes on. Fat tears begin to roll down her cheeks as the contraction passes and her body finally relaxes. Her eyes flutter closed and she lets out a sob, and it breaks his heart._

_“Hey,” he says, gently, prizing her hands off his shirt and pulling her close, rubbing his nose against hers. She opens her eyes and shimmering jade meets hazel. He kisses her softly on the pained crease between her eyebrows, and she drops her head down to rest on his shoulder, exhausted. “It’s all going to be okay,” he soothes, rubbing her back again._

_“It really fucking hurts,” she whispers. He smiles to himself at her profanity, and holds her tighter, as tightly as he can in this position and with swell of her stomach between them._

_“You’re doing so well Babe, you’re nearly there. Y-”_

_His words of encouragement die in his throat as her nails dig into his shoulder and she screams so close to his ear he knows he’ll be deaf for a few hours. He holds himself steady, absorbing as much of her pain and frustration as he can._

_“This. Has. To be. A. Boy!” she grunts. His legs are shaking in their crouched position as she puts more and more of her weight on him. “Only. A Moir boy could be. This much. Of a pain in the-”_

_“How are we getting on in here?” comes the far too happy and energetic voice of the midwife as she bursts through the door to their delivery suite. In response Tessa just screams even louder into his neck._

-

“Scott? Are you still there?” Alma asks after the line is quiet for a moment, only the faint bustle of a hospital corridor audible in the background.

“She was such a rockstar, Mom,” he whispers. “I… I didn’t think I could possibly love her any more than I already did.”

“Oh, my sweet boy.”

She hears him sniff on the other end of the phone as he composes himself. “Hold up,” he says, voice still thick with emotion. “I’m going to send you a photo.”

Moments later her cell phone buzzes in the pocket of her apron and she takes it out with shaking fingers, opening Scott’s message to see the most precious snap of her new grandson resting against Tessa’s chest, his fluffy hair matching the colour of her freckles. Tessa looks tired but utterly content, her dark lashes fanning across her flushed cheeks as she gazes down at her son. Another buzz alerts her to the delivery of a second picture, this one of her own baby boy smiling wider than she’s ever seen, _his_ son swaddled in a blue hospital blanket and wearing a red and white striped hat and held safely in his strong arms.

“Oh Scott,” she says. “He’s gorgeous. Does he have a name yet?”

“Yes.” His voice brightens and she can tell her boy is beaming. “Joseph Moir. Middle names to be confirmed.”

She smiles through her tears, which are now falling freely down her cheeks. “His grandfather will be so happy.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> #takebackthetag


End file.
